to the ball of spiders and mice
by Yagisa
Summary: Neon Nostrade has an older sister who dotes on her relentlessly. Somehow, this changes a lot of things. SI!OC. Chrollo/OC/Pariston.
1. Prologue

Chrollo does not notice her among the gaggle of Mafiosi men and women crowding the lobby of the hotel. The patrons of the opulent establishment are draped in layers of finery and heavy jewelry; they all glitter and twinkle against the pulsing orange light that illuminates the lounge. It's only when she accidentally bowls into him that he becomes aware of her.

"I'm sorry!" She cries out, clutching a hand on his arm to steady herself. "Are you—Are you alright?"

Without even missing a beat, Chrollo slides into the skin of an impressive gentleman. He curves a gentle disarming smile at her and says, "It's no problem at all."

Neon Nostrade is exactly what Chrollo expected her to be; wealthy, coddled, and far too trusting of handsome strangers in suits. With just a few well-timed laughs and flattering words, she agrees to have dinner with him, wholly open and yielding to his questions as if she were talking to an old dear friend. When he asks about her _nen_, the girl is all too eager to feed him the knowledge, even throwing in her own life philosophy on the matter.

"Oh! I almost forgot, would you like me to tell you your fortune, Chrollo?" She asks as she fishes a notepad and glittering pink pen from her pockets. "As thanks for feeding me tonight." In one deft movement, she spins the pen across her splayed fingers before popping off the pink cap.

"Well. If you insist," He offers her a quick tilt of his lips, leaning on his elbows as if to display a great interest in her. It isn't entirely untrue of course, he's interested in her abilities and by extension he has a modicum of interest in her as a person. But her individuality is of much less fascination to him than its manifestation.

Neon giggles in that girlish way of hers, the tips of her ears going red. "I do! My sister says I should always repay my debts to people. Especially when they do me favors!"

"Sister?" His lips almost flatten into a line.

Neon's profile on the hunter's website had failed to mention the presence of a sister.

_How odd._

"Yeah. She's older than me so she's a bit of a nag, but she's nice!"

"I see," He replies absently, tucking away the piece of information for a later date.

"But enough about my sister, I'm sure you have other stuff to do besides hanging out with a kid like me. Now, for your fortune, gimme your full name and I'll handle the rest!"

"Just my full name and nothing else? I'd expected you'd need more than just that."

Neon smiles. "Yeap! Just that!"

And just as he had intended, the night concludes with Neon dancing into the maws of the spider of her own accord, offering her _nen_ up on a silver platter.

.

.

.

Except it seems that Neon is far more clever than he takes her for.

The rest of the night passes in a favorable manner; the requiem he composes for Uvogin is a resounding success though his brief spar with the Zoldycks had ended on a rather lackluster note. Items are thieved, fake bodies are planted, and the mafia community is none the wiser about it.

The only wrinkle in his elaborately calculated plan is that he fails to secure Neon's ability.

"I'm going out," He announces, snapping _Bandit's Secret_ shut. Several curious heads tilt up to look at him. "I won't be long."

"What for?" Franklin asks from his corner of the room. Next to him is Pakunoda who looks at him thoughtfully.

"There's one more thing I've yet to steal it seems."

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.

.

He arrives at the hospital in less than an hour, flagging down a severely underpaid and overworked intern with a convincing tale of forbidden romances, mistresses and bodyguards. The intern eats up the tale with much more enthusiasm than he anticipates and Chrollo easily finds himself in front of a sterile white door.

He slides it open.

"Hello," A woman who is decidedly _not_ Neon Nostrade greets him from the bed. Her legs are crossed in front of her and there's an almost lazy quality to her posture that makes him dismissive of her presence. On her ears is a pair of earrings that sways and _clinks_ melodiously at every movement.

"It appears that I have the wrong room. Excuse me." He says at length.

But just as he's about to slide the door shut, she replies with, "Just so you know, Neon's nowhere to be found in this hospital."

Chrollo gives her a long appraising look. At second glance, it becomes very apparent who the stranger is.

"I recall the girl having mentioned something about an older sister. But I didn't think I'd have the pleasure of meeting her so soon."

"Yes, I also didn't think I'd have the pleasure of meeting the head of the Phantom Troupe personally." She returns carelessly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Yet here we are."

It's then that everything clicks.

Why the younger Nostrade had been almost _too easy_ to lead around.

Why his _nen_ had failed to steal her powers of divination.

And why he had failed to notice that glaring contradiction until _after_ his fight with the Zoldycks.

There was an external factor—_nen_, he suspects—at play.

"You led me here." There is no accusation in his tone, but there is a tinge of wonder that nearly bleeds into his words. It is not every day that he finds himself dancing to the strings of someone else's machinations. He's always been the puppeteer, never the puppet.

It's not at all an unpleasant experience as he thought it'd be.

He wonders if she'll allow him to pick at her brain.

"I have my ways," A lock of hair tumbles on her shoulder as she makes herself even more comfortable on her perch, carelessly folding and unfolding her legs just so, until her charcoal business skirt rides up her pale knees. A lesser man would have found the gesture offensive as if he weren't worthy of the woman's consideration. But not once has her eyes strayed from his own, so Chrollo knows for certain that that is all but untrue.

She is watching him.

"You are a shrewd one," He means this as the highest compliment he can give. "But surely you didn't orchestrate this entire charade for a social call."

"You surmise correctly, Lucilfer. I'm strictly here for business."

_"Oh?"_

"Divination is a spectacular thing once you get past the pointless ambiguity. I find that it makes for a very useful tool when the burden is halved." She pauses, before adding, "And so I come to you with a proposal."

"And what makes you think that I'm the sort who would be so agreeable to such an arrangement?"

"You came to steal Neon's power for a second time. You have a need for it." She points out. "But I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to postpone it for another six months."

This time, he can't help the genuine smile that slants across his lips over her absurd request. "Thieving is done at no one's permission. It is to take and indulge as one desires."

In short, Chrollo will do what he wants.

"You _could_ just steal it right now of course. There's nothing I can do to stop you from killing me to find Neon. But do you really want to settle for an ability that's just barely emerged? Do you really want to add it to your little notebook of secrets? Right _now?_"

In the span of less than a second, Chrollo has her pinned against the bed, clicking a fountain pen dangerously close to her jugular. His other hand is planted firmly above her sternum and he can feel the wild fluttering of her heart against his palm. He can't tell if it is excitement, fear, or something else entirely that makes it quiver.

At any rate, it's too dangerous to let her live. Not when she seems to have some foreknowledge of the troupe.

"It would be easier to just kill you here." He pricks the sharp point of the pen against her neck just until tiny pinpricks of blood bloom on her skin, staining her starch white collar.

But her expression betrays nothing and she remains unflappable under the weight of his gaze. She lays underneath him, unmoving. "Neon's fortunes are limited to four weeks. In six months' time, I can assure you that she will be able to double that. I'm not asking you _not_ to steal her ability. I'm asking you to wait for a more beneficial time."

Chrollo casts her a long assessing look.

The older Nostrade makes for a conventionally attractive creature, he thinks, though in a devastatingly juvenile way; her eyes are a soft shade of blue that suggests a mellow temperament, her hair is of a similar shade but styled into a loose braid, and like her sister, she has a petite frame that is easily dwarfed by his own.

All in all, she is as common as every other mildly pretty woman there is. Except there is a sharp gleam in her eyes that makes him think that she knows _exactly _what she's doing.

"I'm buying your time," She clarifies. "I won't insult you by offering things that are of no value to you. But I do hope that you'll at least hear me out."

Chrollo concludes that this is not the first time she has negotiated in such risky ventures. But she is certainly more skilled than the previous ones who had sought to barter with him as if he were a pawn in whatever game they played. Countless men and women alike had once attempted to bargain a deal or two out of him; some he had accepted and completed out of a whim but most had ended in a contemptible betrayal of his own making. So he responds with, "Money, power, and prestige are of little interest to me."

"And I offer nothing of the kind."

She takes his silence as a cue to continue her pitch. "I can offer you three things in exchange for the six months I asked; the fortune of your friends for the next four weeks, a traitor's plans and—" She trails off deliberately.

He digs the pen a little deeper into her neck; hard enough to blanch her skin but not hard enough to draw blood.

"—a favor."

He eases the pressure just a bit, curiously studying her features for the slightest hint of deception. "I have a friend whose talent is in the art of cruelty." He says conversationally. "I have no need to barter."

"Which is why I'm hoping you'll find my offer appealing."

The first two compromises are undoubtedly very tempting. The troupe's search for Uvogin's murder hadn't been going very well and Nobunaga had yet to shut up about it. Not to mention, Hisoka had grown to be a legitimate problem as of late and more than one spider had expressed their dissatisfaction over his continued existence.

It's not at all an unexpected offer but it's the third one that gives him some pause.

"A favor?" He muses.

She doesn't respond right away and Chrollo can see that she is carefully choosing her next words and he lets her, if only because she has tricked him once and he feels compelled to give her a little more clemency than he typically affords people.

She gazes at something behind his head in contemplative silence then regards him with a cavalier look, "What do you say about having The Broker owe you a favor?"

.

.

.

The deal is settled with a handshake and an implied threat of violence.

The older Nostrade—_Nonon_, as she introduces herself blithely—sets up a video call with Neon who delightedly waves at Chrollo, seemingly unaware of the agreement between the two. Neon supplies him with fortunes he has yet to ask for and Nonon informs him of Hisoka's future indiscretions, half of which he already has an inkling of.

"If I find that you are lying…" Well. There's really no need to finish that sentence.

"You will make an example out of me and kill me in the most violent manner possible. _I know. _It's an occupational hazard that I've already gotten used to." She nods gravely, tucking the laptop they used for the conference call in the crook of her arm, her earrings swaying at the movement. At the corner of the room is a canvas bag that she slings over her shoulder, making her appear like every plain suited worker from the business district. But it is so far removed from the truth that Chrollo permits a single chuckle to slip past his lips. She tilts her head up at him in genuine surprise but says nothing to acknowledge it.

With their trade finalized, she lingers a bit by the door, unwisely turning her back to him. Chrollo contemplates if he should sic _Indoor Fish_ on her but she pivots on her heels just before he can summon _Bandit's Secret_. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lucilfer. When you finally feel like calling in the favor, you may reach me at—_ah_. I'm sure you'll find a way to locate me regardless."

She's one step out of the door when Chrollo asks the question that burns at his curiosity the most. "It would have been far easier to conduct this transaction through a middle man as you always have. Why did you come yourself?"

"Would you have consented to an exchange in that case?"

"No, likely not."

"And there you have it. Some transactions are only possible when meeting my client in person."

It's a half-truth at best, and they both know it, but Chrollo doesn't press her any further than that. Instead, he says, "It is very possible that I wouldn't have allowed you to leave this room alive."

At this, Nonon gives him a wan tight-lipped smile, "As long as the probability isn't zero, I find that there is always hope to be had."

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.

.

It is only when Nonon staggers into the safety of her private car that she allows her mien of pretentiousness to crumble into a face of complete and utter relief, wilting pitifully against the upholstered leathered seats. She sucks in a deep breath, trying very hard not to have a heart attack.

There is a deafening silence in the car, until,

"Oh my god," She says, at last, rubbing the flesh of her palm against her forehead. Her concealer smudges against her hand but she doesn't care a whit because she's _still alive_ and that alone should be worthy of a celebration or ten. "Oh my god," She says for a second time because once isn't enough and the tight bubbling feeling—adrenaline, Eliza later supplies—in her chest deflates like a limp balloon and she suddenly feels like she's just aged ten years.

"Oh my god," She says once more for good measure.

"I think that went a lot better than expected," Dalzollene says consolingly from the driver's seat. His eyes are on the road but he sends brief sympathetic glances through the rear mirror to Nonon every now and then.

"I thought I was going to piss myself." Nonon frowns, patting her skirt.

Dalzollene startles and almost swerves into another car. But a high pitched yelp from Nonon has him quickly regaining his equilibrium, resolutely keeping his eyes in front. "_Boss,_" He nervously looks at the freshly cleaned seats.

_"I didn't!"_ She exclaims tartly.

Once it looks like Dalzollene isn't going to have an aneurysm and has a clear understanding that her earlier remark had _obviously _been meant as a joke, she gives him a condensed version of the night's events, meticulously leaving out details like the incident with the shockingly sharp fountain pen. Dalzollene listens to her with rapt attention, highly critical of her manners in negotiation. On another day, she would have argued with him until he conceded in defeat. But because it has been a long day, she accepts his evaluations without so much as a complaint, returning a thoughtful gaze to the cityscape outside the window.

Chrollo Lucilfer is nothing at all like Nonon had ever imagined him to be yet at the same time he is exactly as she had expected him to be. He is as cold, charming and cruel as her memories of a distant life paints him, but he is also somehow _much_ worse. There is just something about the ease at which he can slip into a new skin so faultlessly and shed it just as effortlessly that Nonon finds infinitely terrifying.

Had she been a little more fatalistic; had she loved Neon a little less; and had she been more of a self-serving coward, she could have simply dropped everything at that point and abandoned all responsibility.

But because Nonon Nostrade is a foolish woman and because she has always cared far too much, she chooses to stay.

* * *

**A/N:**

Writing this fic to get me back into the groove of writing Even Monkeys Fall from Trees.

This time I've chosen to use a SI!OC that's a lot older than my previous one, and more attuned to the Hunter x Hunter world. The story will be a little more serious in tone but will still be humorous and focused on romance like EMFFT. But unlike my other fic, the bulk of this one will likely be set at the election and DC arc.

I hope I didn't make Nonon too OP. She has nen, but certainly nothing game-breaking, which I hope to clarify in the next few chapters. Unlike Hazuki, she's definitely a bit more morally ambiguous and tries too hard to be Machiavellian.

Why **Kuroro/OC/Pariston** you ask? Because I love smarmy bastards and mind games, and I've always wanted to write a story like that.

Anyways, let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1

The Yorkshin incident comes to a close and it is a surprisingly peaceful affair.

To Nonon's immense relief, Chrollo keeps his own end of the bargain and makes no further attempt at pilfering Neon's ability. As a consequence, the Nostrade family is not brought into ruins and Light Nostrade does not concede the title of boss to a barely qualified teenager, hell-bent on revenge.

Not that there is a barely qualified teenager hell-bent on revenge to give it to anyhow, not after Nonon had pulled some strings to get the Kurapika boy employed somewhere else.

Then there is also the ensuing power struggle over the succession of seats left by the ten dons' assassinations. Mafia families are savagely beaten into submission, or are forcefully absorbed into the more influential ones, or in worse cases there are those that vanish entirely into the night, never to be heard from again.

So much cruelty, for the sake of a little more power.

But the Nostrade family remains untouched and this is more than enough for Nonon.

All in all, it is what she would consider a job well done.

Neon is alive and content and continues her life in the lap of idle luxury.

For the first time in seventeen years, Nonon finally feels like she can breathe again.

.

.

.

An entire week has passed since the Nostrades' momentous business trip to Yorkshin and life goes on as it always has; as if Nonon hadn't painstakingly deceived and cheated her way to an ending that will lead to all of their happiness. There is no applause for her success, there is no sudden reveal that undermines her plans, and to her immense disappointment, there is no handsome suitor to sweep her off her feet. There is only a disquiet at the end of it all.

Nonon may have secured her family's future, but the accomplishment of this objective is also the reward itself.

To be perfectly honest, she hadn't actually expected to get this far in life unscathed. Now that she's achieved her goal—the one she had obsessively dedicated her entire life towards—she doesn't quite know what to do with herself anymore. She had assumed she would perish somewhere along the way, so she dared not entertain the idea of a life _after_ Yorkshin.

And so Nonon finds herself on the verge of an existential crisis; the freedom she gains at the end of her machinations is almost too much to bear and she feels suffocated by its weight. The freedom to carve a path of her own making without fear of repercussion that it will reflect poorly on Neon's future is supposed to be a colossal reward. But somehow, it feels like a death sentence instead.

She swipes her phone open and stares at the forecast that blinks on the screen in bright letters.

_[Nonon Nostrade's Fortune Forecast!]_

_[Neon Nostrade's probability of living a healthy and happy life until her 60s: 100%]_

She clicks the phone shut.

Yes. It looks like her job truly is over.

Nonon wonders where her life will lead her next.

.

.

.

Nonon's solution to her ennui is to take a week off from work. Because if there's one thing that's been universal so far, between this life and the past, it's that drowning herself in cheap thrills is a highly therapeutic way to ignore the looming gloom and doom brought upon by her newfound freedom. She goes to bread tasting events, ice cream tasting events, and even listens to a telemarketer's pitch of a ridiculously expensive doorframe for an entire hour. And once that had grown to become uninteresting, she drags her ever-faithful guard dog to hit the shops.

Dalzallone is unhappy with this turn of events but accompanies her regardless.

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.

.

Nonon steps in front of a large mirror, sliding a hand across the dips of the dress that delicately clings to the slopes of her body. The dress makes for a ravishing thing, she thinks, its fabric is a soft shade of cream with a thin belt that cinches pleasantly above her waist and in the front is a deep line that cuts below her clavicles, tastefully revealing an expanse of chest.

She tilts her head at Dalzallone's sullen expression reflected in the mirror.

"Say, Dalzallone, do you think this looks good on me?"

There is a brief pause, then, "I think it suits you just fine, Boss." His barely suppressed long-suffering sigh is not lost on her.

She quirks her lips and does a little twirl. The fabric sways pleasantly against her calves. "Truly?"

"Yeah boss, it looks _great._" He says through clenched teeth, adjusting the straps of the shopping bags that cut through his palms. By his feet are dozen more bags with names inscribed across their wrappings in elegant loops and curves. He very much looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but there; his eyes dart to the doors every so often when he thinks Nonon isn't looking.

"Yes, you're right," She hums thoughtfully. "This doesn't quite complement me well, does it?"

"That is not at all what I just said."

"Oh do lighten up, Dalzallone." She says lightly, stepping back into the dressing room. There's a rustling sound that's followed by a soft _thump_ and soon after, the dress pools around her naked ankles.

Dalzallone pointedly looks away.

There are a few more seconds of rustling until Nonon emerges from the stall with the dress folded neatly across her arms. She returns it to a passing employee. "We're not in the feudal age anymore. There's no shame in having a man inside a women's clothing store." She says before sauntering deeper into the dizzyingly bright lights of the boutique. She is followed by a throng of employees who are all too happy to assist with her shopping.

"I'm not embarrassed,"

"But you're doing that thing with your face."

"What thing?"

"That thing where you look like you just ate a particularly sour batch of lemons."

"Frowning?"

"Ah, yes. That's the word. Frowning."

Dalzallone shakes his head. "I just—look, boss. We've been at this for six hours. I don't think I can bear to look at another dress or shoe or bag or whatever it is you want my opinion on. I'm paid to guard you, being your consultant or whatever _this_ is, is way beyond my paygrade." He replies harshly, not at all ashamed of his own lack of delicacy.

But Nonon does not scold him nor does she punish him for his tactlessness. She takes his ire in stride and airily says, "You're right." Her hand pauses above the stylish one-piece dress with a remarkably meticulous latticework. "I've been neglecting you, haven't I? I'm so sorry Dalzallone—"

"It's really not anything you need to say sorry for—"

"—as your boss, I must make amends—"

"—that is really unnecessary—"

"And so I think we should get you some new clothes. You have like what, twenty duplicates of the same shirt?"

"Boss, I—_no._"

They end up shopping for another three hours.

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.

.

The sky is dark by the time they return to the Nostrade Manor.

By the heavy iron gates is a line of attendants dressed in pressed suits and ornate kimonos, waiting patiently for their mistress' arrival. As soon as she steps out of the car, they receive her kindly and without so much as a command, swiftly sort through her purchases, carrying the bags of silk and lace to her room in a neat pile. Then, she dismisses Dalzallone for the rest of the evening. But not before she strong-arms him into accepting her generosity.

_("Oh just take them, you silly man," She pushes the bags into his limp tired arms._

"_Boss, I really can't," He weakly objects._

"_And what am I supposed to do with a bunch of men's shirts? Surely you don't expect me to wear these." She rolls her eyes.)_

And he reluctantly accepts them, if only to appease her caprices.

To absolutely no one's surprise, Neon is predictably unhappy when she finds out that Nonon had gone on a day trip without her and sees it as a most contemptible betrayal requiring a payment tantamount to blood.

Which is to say, Neon expects to be appeased in terms of snacks.

Nonon is all too delighted to indulge her.

"You went shopping! _Without me!_" Neon furrows her brows, trying very hard to look intimidating. It fails. But mostly because Nonon can never see her as anything _but_ endearing.

"Yes, well, you had school today, Neon." Nonon gently reminds her, reaching for the porcelain kettle that sits by Neon's side, picking it up by its rounded handle. She methodically pours herself and Neon a cup each. "But I didn't forget about you of course. I got you some cakes and tea as compensation. See?"

"No fair! You let me skip class for Yorkshin but not for shopping?!" Neon protests hotly, but takes the proffered cup of black tea anyways. After eyeing the plate of pies for a few tense seconds, she takes one then take a bite out of it.

Before long, there is a tall pile of sweets by her side.

Nonon wisely makes no mention of it and simply says, "Yorkshin is a family event. Besides, we can't have a Nostrade being a truant now, can we? We have many faults but truancy is certainly not one of them."

"But school is _so_ boring!" Neon groans through a mouthful of food. There are specks of crumbs next to her mouth and Nonon has to lean over the table to wipe them away.

"Perhaps if you work on your Italian a little more, I may reconsider letting you skip school tomorrow. Speaking of which, how's your grasp on the language so far?" Satisfied with her handiwork, Nonon leans against her seat with an idle but pleasant smile on her mouth, tucking her handkerchief back into her pocket.

Neon gulps down her snack then impishly grins, _"__Mi presti la penna per favore?"_ Although her accent and pronunciation are impeccable, it is the only phrase she can say with great confidence. Or rather, it is the only thing she can say in the language without sounding like a blubbering goose.

"Ah. Atrocious as ever it seems." Nonon nods gravely, but it is hard to miss the fond tilt of her lips. "It looks like you'll have to wait until the weekend."

"It was worth a shot," Neon sighs, sinking into her seat. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask,"

"Hm?"

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you at home, but aren't you usually at work by this time of the week?" Neon casually comments, her gaze lazily flicking about the plate of quiches—perhaps deliberating if she still had space for some more.

"I'm on vacation."

"A vacation," Neon echoes slowly, finally tearing her gaze away from the pastries. _"You_ asked for one?"

"Is that so strange?"

"You come to work even when you've got the flu." Neon points out. "I've seen you come to work looking like death."

"That is hardly true,"

"It _is_ true!" Neon insists, her arms wildly gesticulating to stress her point. "Is something wrong? Did something happen? You know you can tell me anything."

Nonon's hand stiffens against the curve of her teacup, considering her next words.

What is the correct thing to say in such a situation?

Should she be honest? Should she spill the entire truth? Should she tell her that she feels like taking a vacation now because the years of scheming and lying has left her oh so very tired? Should she tell her that she just wants to settle down with a nice ordinary man and live a stupid idyllic life by the countryside?

Her eyes flutter close and she sucks in a deep breath.

_No._

Nonon can never tell her those things. Though there are many truths she tries hard not to keep from Neon, she refuses to share the burden of this one. Her sister doesn't need to be burdened by this particular truth.

It is her burden alone.

Nonon opens her eyes, returning an indulgent smile, "I've been working for the past ten years under father's guidance. Perhaps it's time to retire from the family business, all this excitement is getting a little too much for me." Ever so gently, she places the teacup back on its plate before continuing, "Lately, I've been considering moving to my own place. I can't live in the manor forever."

"I didn't know that being an accountant was _that_ exciting. Maybe I should consider a career in it then?" Neon remarks, tilting her head to the side. She looks like she is seriously considering the matter.

It's really not as exciting Neon thinks it is but Nonon doesn't correct her. "I will support you in whatever your endeavors are." She says instead.

"I know," Neon says quietly. "You always have, haven't you?"

"You're my baby sister," Nonon returns as if that was explanation enough.

And it is, because Neon takes her by the hand and draws her into a sincere embrace.

.

.

.

A beat later, Neon adds, "I'm even more surprised that papa let you go on a vacation. Can he even hold the fort on his own? Won't the business burn down without you?"

This draws out a genuine laugh out of Nonon. "You overestimate father's need for me. I'm sure he can hold the fort on his own just fine."

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.

.

It turns out that Light Nostrade could not survive even three days without her.

On the third day of Nonon's vacation, just as she's about to leave the manor for a drive, she is accosted by one of the grim-faced maids into Light's office. She thinks nothing of it at first and merely assumes that perhaps her father has had a sudden swell of paternal affection and simply wishes to give his regards before her departure.

Clearly, she thought wrong.

Because as soon as she enters his office, there is a curious tension that hangs heavy in the air. Four of his _capos_ are there, dressed in designer suits and expensive watches. There is an all too familiar expression etched on their faces, as if Light had once again said something extremely foolish and they were not at all inclined to agree with him. But when they notice her inquiring eyes sliding over them, they quickly school their countenance into one of quiet indifference.

How very…_interesting._

"Father!" Nonon envelopes him into a hug, wetly kissing both of his cheeks in an exaggerated display of daughterly affection. A dash of rogue smears on his cheeks but she makes no move to wipe it. He grunts something akin to an embarrassed noise and lightly pushes her away. She allows it, stepping back to give him his space. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this social call?"

He looks dazed, likely self-conscious and startled at the earnest fervor she had greeted him with. He shakes his head once before returning her warmth with a small uneasy smile of his own. "Ah, Nonon, darling!" Sunlight filters through the slits of the windows behind him, highlighting the grays in his hair. From Nonon's viewpoint, he suddenly looks very tired and very old. "How have you been enjoying your vacation so far?"

She doesn't quite like the gleam that twinkles in his eyes but answers anyway. "It's been alright." Though the capos are feigning disinterest in their conversation, there is a taut tension in their shoulders that gives them away. It is a bit rude, but she supposes that they are simply doing their jobs. "I'm actually about to head to an annual cheese tasting competition at _Berutuz_. I've been invited as a judge."

"A what?" Light looks surprised. From behind her, Nonon can hear a snort rumbling deeply from someone's chest. Likely _Teo_, she surmises, after all, he is the only capo with a tolerance for her nonsense.

"A cheese-tasting competition." She repeats. Though this time the accompanying round of snickers is loud enough to reach even her father's ears.

He colors a bit at that. "That, uh, that sounds like fun?"

"Thank you."

"But—"

_And here it comes._

"—I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to postpone your trip." Light dips his head gravely, reaching for a stick of tobacco but hesitates at the last moment. He lets his hand drop to his side. "There have been some troubles with the casinos lately and I need you to check in on them."

Nonon opens her mouth to protest, but Light does not let her get a word in. He continues speaking, disregarding her blatant irritation. "We suspect that a few of our men may be embezzling some funds. Even worse is that there are rumors of disgruntled employees and back dealings with…_business competitors_. A most troubling affair, I tell you."

At this, Nonon's pretense of good cheer drops and her lips flatten into a thin line. Bizarre as it may seem, but she had been genuinely looking forward to that cheese-tasting competition for months now. She had very little social life outside of her father's mafia circle and she had been working to fix that.

But because Light is both her father and boss; if he tells her to bark, bark she must.

"Okay," Nonon readily agrees, sucking in a deep breath.

Light startles at her easy acceptance but makes no mention of it. To his credit, he actually gives her what she assumes is a look of mild regret. _Mild_, but regret nonetheless. "I know that you've been looking forward to this vacation of yours, but the meeting for the fiscal report with the Ritz family is coming in a months' time. We can't afford to look weak in front of the head family, not now at least. Not when there's so much at stake."

Nonon actually doesn't think that that's the case this time. Her father had no patience for mind-numbing administrative work and would barely glance at her own reports unless absolutely necessary.

The sudden interest is suspicious and she can't help but suspect that her father is up to something.

_But to what end?_

She casts an evaluating look at the taciturn capos. But true to their oaths, they betray nothing. "Alright then," She says after a beat. "But I'll be taking Dalzallone."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." With a long sigh, he wearily runs a hand through his gray hair. "You may take a dozen more guards with you as an extra precaution."

"What for?"

Another thick and strained silence fills the room. There is a silent conversation that is communicated only through the eyes of boss and capo and the message is completely lost on Nonon. "There are some—" Light begins carefully, narrowing his gaze at something behind her before continuing. "—_misunderstandings_ between families at the moment. Can you fault me for being concerned over my daughter's wellbeing?"

A bitter smile tugs at Nonon's lips.

.

.

.

But she will not call him out on his lies.

.

.

.

Being an accountant is not at all a glamorous job.

It is, without a doubt, a stable and well-paying job. But in a world where supernatural powers exist, it is the farthest occupation from thrilling. Nonon feels that had she been part of an _isekai_ story that was so popular back in her previous life, she would have been considered a highly disappointing heroine. For starters, she had made no attempt at being a hunter or doing anything remotely related to it. Instead, she had opted to work very hard at her studies to secure herself a boring but steady office job.

Though unfortunately, her father had immediately head-hunted her as the family accountant as soon as she graduated. He had explained to her then that when it came to monetary matters, it was far easier to place trust in _family._

Loathe she is to admit it, but he hadn't been wrong in that regard. Nonon had yet to misappropriate money from the Nostrade funds in her decade of employment. But that was mostly because Light, although an emotionally absent father who built his empire on the exploitation of his own daughters' talents, was a regrettably adept businessman who paid her handsomely enough that whatever theoretical money she stole would be but pocket change.

To further Nonon's dissatisfaction, her father had lamentably not been the type to believe in nepotism and had worked her thrice as hard. Aside from being the head bookkeeper of the entire family account, he had somehow also made it her job to audit the several businesses they controlled. Which basically meant that he had sent her to various parts of their territories for _surprise_ inspections which about inconvenienced everyone involved.

Mostly Nonon, really. But her plight had fallen on deaf ears.

In the beginning, the recurrent trips had been of great interest to Nonon. There had been a degree of comfort in viewing this new world of hers through a distant and comfortable lens. But once the business trips had become a little too often her liking and once all the appeal had fizzled out, she grew to find the excursions a tad too tiresome. She wouldn't have minded it so much really had it not cut down on her sisterly bonding time with Neon.

But she supposes that in exchange for her sister's continued existence it had been a very small price to pay.

After all, she would do anything if it were for her dearest Neon.

.

.

.

"We're here," Dalzallone murmurs in a low tone, snapping Nonon away from her thoughts.

She looks up from her tablet with tired eyes, finally taking notice of the different landscape.

_Parsii_ is similar to Yorkshin in that they are both bustling cityscapes with an abundance of pedestrians. Unlike the latter, however, there is a beautiful river that cuts through Parsii, allowing the city to be explored through an intricate ferry system. Though it had been a good while since she last visited, there is a sense of nostalgia that flutters in her chest as she surveys the scenery. Some of the shops she used to frequent had long gone out of business only to be replaced by commercial coffeehouses, but some had remained quietly tucked at a corner of the city still.

_Ah,_

Her eyes hungrily roam across the boutiques that blur through her windows.

Perhaps it would be wise to settle things early to enjoy a good stroll in the city.

_Yes, _she nods to herself, _it is an idea that has some merit._

Neon would certainly enjoy the local delicacies that Parsii had to offer.

Eventually, Dalzallone stops the car in front of _Lumière,_ a great striking casino that casts an impressive silhouette amongst the equally impressive structures that extend to the skyline. It is one of several establishments that—unusually enough—serves as an exceedingly legal way for the Nostrade family to do business. It had stood there for so long that it predated even Nonon's own birth, making it a cornerstone of the family's history.

Soon after, the other half of Nonon's entourage follows Dalzallone's lead, parking their darkly tinted cars by _Lumière's_ entrance. Nonon steps out of her private car and with a languid wave of her hand, they soundlessly follow her under the impressive archways of the casino until they are stopped by a pair of security guards. But before she can even introduce herself, Dalzallone intercedes, flashing them something from inside his suit jacket. They turn a very interesting shade of white then, before quickly scrambling to allow them access to the higher floors without any further trouble.

However, when they arrive at the elevator there is this short awkward moment where they have to discuss _how exactly_ they will fit inside the metal contraption.

Apparently, the other one had been out of service for three days now and no one had bothered to do anything about it.

"We are not going to fit inside this thing," Nonon hisses. "Just have them take the next one."

"Your father explicitly told us _never_ to leave your side." Dalzallone exhales, pushing her in the middle of this strange little human circle they have her encased in. "Please don't make our jobs any harder than it already is and just endure it for a few more seconds."

"The thing that's pocking my back right now _better_ be a gun," She groans against Dalzallone's starched shirt.

The elevator arrives on the twelfth floor with a soft ding and Nonon is all too eager to leave its oppressive confines. Without so much as a word to her guards, she stalks off, deeply peeved at having been pressed so tightly against the hulking masses of bodies that stank of gunpowder and something metallic.

She never really had a tolerance for the scent of death.

Without waiting for them to catch up, she strolls into the administrative room with about as much dignity as she could gather given her mussed hair. But she pauses in her steps as soon as she finds the place questionably devoid of people. There is no receptionist or even a staff member to greet them. Books are left open and papers are haphazardly scattered across the floor—as if somebody had left in a hurry and hadn't bothered with anything else.

She chances a glance at the safe with heavy locks at its seams.

It is shut tight.

_Not a robbery then,_ she surmises.

Above her, the light flickers ominously.

Dalzallone barks out a sharp order to the guards and they comply, assessing the room for further threats while a scant few remain by her side. She supposes that the situation warrants some amount of apprehension but she's been in this life long enough that such circumstances had quickly become commonplace. It was either she adapted to her new life or continue to balk at every dangerous confrontation.

Nonon had chosen to adapt.

So she mutely leaves them to do their jobs, distractedly trailing a finger across the papers above the empty desks. Her eyes scan the documents that don't really imply anything of substance, mostly containing accounts of frustrated gamblers among other mundane things. She continues this for the span of a few seconds until the back of her hand accidentally brushes against a mug of coffee.

She stills, taking in the warmth that radiated from the mug.

It is as if it had been prepared no more than five minutes ago.

She wonders then, if someone had tipped them off to her inspection.

_Gods._

Why must they delight in making things harder for her?

With a groan, she crosses the room in a few quick strides before calling out very loudly, "If I ask nicely enough, will you come out without a fuss?"

A beat passes.

Her bodyguards give her a long withering look.

"Let's make this easier for both you and me, yes? No fighting, no drama. Just two adults discussing business over lunch." She then adds, "My treat of course!" As if that will sweeten the deal.

Still, there is no answer.

But there is a distinct clattering noise in the break room that sends her guards on alert. They pivot on their heels, raising a gun towards the door before slowly and cautiously approaching.

One of them—a freckled woman with wild red hair—kicks it open, triggering an almost instantaneous visceral reaction.

There is a blast of revolting stench that gusts through the room, invading their nostrils with its offensive reek. Nonon has to scramble for the sleeve of her shirt to prevent the onslaught of bile that threatens to rise from the back of her throat. Even her bodyguards have been stunned into silence and Dalzallone hurriedly assumes a protective stance in front of her, blocking her view of the room.

But even from behind his shoulders, she sees it. The room is caked in red and there is a very distinct and imposing figure that stands in between the carnage.

He turns to them slowly, long dark hair spilling across his back.

_Oh._

"Ah. It's _you_. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

_Oh no._

"Mother sends her regards."

_Fuck._

"Hello to you too, Illumi. Is that—_Is that my accountant's kidney on your hand?"_

* * *

**A/N:**

Hello everyone! Thank you so so much for the interest in this fic! I didn't think people would actually leave a review and put it on alert. I'm very glad that it's been of interest to people so far.

Some stuff I'd like to note though beforehand is that this story will be a **_noona romance_. **Which basically means that the MC is at least a few years older than her love interests. In this case, Nonon is a few years older than both Chrollo and Pariston. This story basically occurs at the point in the SI!OC's life where she's already achieved her goal of averting Neon's fate, so I hope that she doesn't sound too OP. She's part of a mob family so she has _some_ sway, but defo nothing too OP, I think.

Just thought I'd put that out here in case it's a deal breaker for some people.

Another thing I'd like to note is that I'll be integrating some real world nuances in this story. All of the cities in our world exists in this story's world too, albeit under a different name. Kinda like Yorkshin really. As for spoken language, they're all speaking in Japanese (lmao surprisingly enough) unless otherwise stated.

Anyways, this story is unbeta'd. So lemme know if you see any errors or just want to tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 2

The problem with reincarnation—in Nonon's humble opinion at least—is that there is only a certain finite number of things she can recall from her previous life. She can remember _some _things in great clarity; an old name, an ugly cat, an intolerable day job, a thankless cyclic existence—and then some more things she wishes she hadn't carried up to her new life.

But somehow, her memory fails when it comes to providing a comprehensive knowledge on this strange new world that she finds herself in.

She remembers having read about the trials and tribulations of a young boy in pursuit of his father, she remembers her own bitter disappointment at the kind of person _Ging_ had turned out to be, she remembers longing for the unconditional positive regard that _Mito_ had in abundance for Gon, and she remembers the characters—no, the _people—_who were made as if for the sole purpose of dying.

And although she tries very hard to recall everything about the world and herself—_she doesn't want to forget that person's warmth or smile_—the memories soon slip from her mind like the wisps of a fading dream, leaving a yearning that seeps deep into her pores.

But even if there are things that Nonon can't remember, she is certain of two things at least.

First, Nonon Nostrade is an existence that by rights shouldn't exist but exists, nonetheless.

Second, there is absolutely no reason for Illumi Zoldyck to be acquainted with said Nonon Nostrade.

But—

"Lunch, huh?"

—_somehow_—

"What good timing. I was just about to grab a bite."

—here they are.

"Where should we go?"

.

.

.

Even on his best behavior, Illumi inspires terror in people's hearts.

Nonon is no exception. She is terrified of him.

But for some reason, he still chooses to eat with her.

"This place has an excellent wine selection," begins Nonon by way of conversation. She flicks an uneasy glance at him over the thick card stock of the restaurant's menu, her knees jerking underneath the table at every slight movement of his.

Illumi says nothing. He hasn't looked up from his own menu in the last five minutes and even at the sound of her voice, his eyes are still intent on the glossy paper in his hand.

And Nonon truly wouldn't have minded so much—she's long been accustomed to the Zoldyck eccentricity—had his other hand not been occupied with juggling her deceased accountant's kidney in the air_. _It lands with a sick wet squelch every so often that Nonon finds difficult to ignore.

She feels the concerned gaze of the waiting staff burning a hole at the back of her head.

Finally having had enough, but mostly because she had no desire to spend more time with Illumi than was strictly necessary, she puts her menu down primly and asks, "Why—Whydo you still have my accountant's kidney?"

The squelching comes to halt and Illumi finally looks up at her. He pauses for a moment, staring at her unblinkingly before eyeing the raw bloody kidney he has grasped. Then, without so much as a warning, he throws the thing with alarming accuracy inside a champagne pail. There's a subsequent wail of surprise from a poor waitress and a resounding crash that pierces her ears.

Nonon mourns the inevitable break-up she'll have with her favorite restaurant.

Meanwhile, Illumi is unrepentant.

"I heard you retired from the business," Illumi finally says at last, his eyes still trained on the menu. It is the first substantial thing he has said in the half hour they've been together.

"I'm on vacation." Nonon corrects him diplomatically as she tries very hard _not_ to look at the doors that led to her freedom. Illumi angles his head at her and she quickly returns to perusing her menu. "Or _was_ at least. But some troubles came up, you see, so I've been called back to—"

"If this is about the money troubles from the Nostrade-owned casinos, those are all on me." Illumi's voice cuts through her own.

Nonon has to blink twice before she can process the entirety of that statement.

"I'm sorry?"

"Booking a flight back was a pain. So I put your men under my control to get you to come here."

And just like that, everything snaps into clarity.

The sudden erratic behavior of the otherwise well-mannered employees when she'd been so certain that they'd been functional and loyal no more than three months ago.

The sudden disappearance of _Lumiere's_ entire administrative staff in such a short span of time.

Illumi is toying with her.

Again.

From underneath the table, Nonon clenches her fists. She can feel her nails digging against the soft flesh of her palm and a mix of fear, resentment and nausea churns at her gut. She opens her mouth, a disapproving remark ready at the tip of her tongue, but she bites her lip at the last second.

She will not waltz to his caprices.

Calmly, she responds with, "Where are they?"

"I don't know. I told them to take a walk. They deserve a break, don't they?" Illumi replies with a rhythmic drum of his fingers and still, he does not look at her. "Who knows where they are right now?"

"And my accountant?"

"Someone had to make sure that things stayed afloat when the rest of the workers are away." He pauses, "But you took too long, so I got bored."

"…I see." She swallows thickly, "And may I ask what was so urgent that you felt it was necessary to put several of my men under your control?"

"You may," Illumi finally deigns her with his full attention, dark eyes mockingly boring into her form. Then, ever so indiscernibly, the corner of his lips twitch.

But he doesn't say anything more than that.

_You little shit, _Nonon wants to curse.

"They're not your toys," Her words are measured and deliberate. It is tiring to have to constantly find the right words that do not bare her sentiments. But she must be careful—she _needs_ to be_._ Because Illumi may have afforded her some modicum of mercy that's allowed her to survive thus far but that doesn't mean she has no reason to be cautious of him.

"Are you angry at me?" He asks.

There's this look that slides over Illumi's face—it is charged with neither tenderness nor wickedness—and Nonon is convinced that he is intentionally baiting her.

But she does not indulge him.

The seconds tick by.

Then, after what seems like an eternity, Illumi exhales, clearly uninterested in her reaction any longer. "How disappointing." He says. Then adds, "I liked you better when you were desperate."

Her smile grows strained. "I'm very sorry to disappoint."

"I am a very forgiving man."

"You are too kind to me," She replies conversationally. As if he hadn't just revealed that he'd killed a good number of people. _Good people, _that Nonon had liked. "But for you to seek my attention in such a roundabout way…Did Silva freeze your account again?"

As soon as the question leaves her lips, the drumming of fingers stops. Illumi's previously indifferent countenance fluctuates and his eyes narrow into dangerous slits. There's a distinct shift in the air that makes her skin crawl and her hands automatically reach for the side of her waist.

She watches him with bated breath.

"Don't treat me like a child." He says.

_This is foolish, _Nonon thinks. To provoke Illumi is utter madness but Nonon just wants to hurt him in small insignificant ways she can—in the _only_ way she knows how. The words that spill from her mouth are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but they are just cutting enough for the fissures in his stone-cold mask to crack. Just enough to give her satisfaction—no matter how miniscule—that although she will always be too weak, her words can still incite something in him.

She shouldn't be playing this game with Illumi of all people, but whenever he's around, everything vile about her rears its ugly head.

"My mistake then." Her earrings _clink_ pleasantly at the dip of her head. "It's just that the way you've been acting lately reminds me of how you used to be as a child."

The oppressive silence between them grows tense. Her eyes are resolutely fixed on his unmoving figure and Illumi's hollow eyes are wholly trained on her own. The background chatter that fills the room coalesces into an indistinct static and for a brief fraught second, it is as if they are the only people in there.

Her grip on her waist is cold and clammy.

But at the next moment, the searing tension that devastates the room is gone. Illumi merely crosses his legs from across her, surveying the delicate chandelier that hangs pretentiously above them in detachment. He makes no comment of her little barb and addresses another matter entirely, "I'm here for business. Get me a copy Greed Island before the week ends."

She drops her hand.

A bit dissatisfied, but also mostly relieved that he hadn't killed her yet, she closes her eyes in thought, "Videogames are not my expertise. I would think that you would have better luck with Milluki."

"That brother of mine is useless."

"Are those the words an older brother should be speaking?"

"Is it in the nature of The Broker to play with danger?" Illumi lazily asks.

Nonon hesitates, cautiously lifting her eyes before lowering them back to her lap, "…It's going to be expensive, Illumi. Far more than what it's actually worth."

"Money is of no concern. My client is willing to pay any amount."

Personally, Nonon feels it would have been far more efficient and pragmatic to have the assassination conducted _outside_ of the game. But she supposes she'll never understand the reasoning of excessively wealthy middle-aged men that comprised the bulk of Illumi's clientele. So she says, "There's a reason why Greed Island is so infamous…Even with an inordinate amount of money, it's still a rare find."

"Nonon," The way Illumi murmurs her name makes her mouth go dry. It's as if all the air in her lungs has been knocked out. "Are you saying _no_ to me?"

She stills.

"I—of course not." Her face is one of curious politeness but there's a flurry of emotions that stirs within her. "It's just…to obtain Greed Island within such short notice is impossible. I don't do bargains beyond the scope of my capabilities."

"You trade in possibilities." Illumi counters. "With Fortune Forecast, it shouldn't be too hard for you."

Nonon's shoulders tense. He is steering the conversation in a direction that she dreads. "My nen isn't omnipotent, it doesn't work that way."

"You're right. Let's do it this way then. Do me a favor, Nonon."

A pause.

"…What kind of favor?"

Illumi does not smile, but the way his lips stretch is a terrifying approximation of one. "Kiss me on the cheek."

.

.

.

Fortune Forecast, in a manner of speaking, is an ability that controls the probability of fate. But it is not invincible and is governed by six strict conditions.

First, the probability of fate can only be changed when Nonon fulfills a favor equivalent to its value.

Second, the favor issued to Nonon must be one that she can do.

Third, Nonon must deliver the favor within an hour and likewise, the favor must be something that can be accomplished under an hour.

Fourth, failure to accomplish a favor will exact a consequence.

Fifth, a favor issued cannot be refused.

And sixth, Nonon cannot avert her own fate.

.

.

.

It is only when Illumi exits the restaurant at last that Nonon lets go of the bread knife she has tucked inside the waistband of her skirt. When she moves to stand, it falls to the marbled floor with a harsh _clang, _drawing the curious gaze of wealthy restaurant patrons_. _But her guards are quick to conceal her from wandering eyes.

They stand by her in solemn silence, shifting uncomfortably at the empty seat in front of her.

"Boss," Dalzallone says, stepping forward. His face is severe and his brows are furrowed. Something akin to concern flickers through his features. His lips part, perhaps to offer some consolation to her, but she is swift and leaves no room for his thoughts.

"Tomorrow, we will attend the Yenrai Family's charity ball." She announces. They nod their heads at her.

Dalzallone frowns. Her chest is rising in a quick and uneven rhythm and her hands are balled into tight fists behind her back. She looks as if she's about to—it is a thought he doesn't dare entertain. He stretches an arm to place a comforting hand by her shoulder but holds himself back at the last second.

His hands remain limp by his sides.

"…Boss, are you—are you okay?" He asks quietly, just out of earshot.

For a moment, when Nonon angles her head at him, an expression of surprise flits across her features. There is something familiar about it, something nostalgic. It draws to mind a memory from so many years ago. Wide powder blue eyes piercing through his lies. A lock of hair tumbling messily above a pair of delicate ears. Blood spilling across the cracks of concrete. An oath of indomitable loyalty.

It is the memory of their first meeting.

("Will you swear me the truth until the day you die?"

"Yes. _Yes._ _As you wish._")

He wonders if she still remembers his vow to her.

"Of course I am." The lie leaves her lips so effortlessly that it is almost mistaken as the truth. But Dalzallone knows better.

She smiles. And there is something cold and distant about it and he hates how whenever someone reaches for her, she always _always_ takes a step back.

His jaw tightens.

"But you're—"

"_Dalzallone."_

He jerks at her tone.

"Yes?"

"Would you be a dear and make funeral arrangements?"

"…Yes, Boss. As you wish."

.

.

.

The night arrives far too soon.

Nonon drapes herself across a cream-colored settee with a tablet tucked in one hand. There is a harsh blue light that emanates from the damn thing and she has to squint to abate the telltale signs of an incoming headache. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She can barely make sense of the rows and rows of numbers entered into the spreadsheet.

She sighs. The glasses perched on her nose slide down a little.

Illumi may be an assassin extraordinaire but clearly, his ability to math is just as dismal as anyone else.

She doesn't know why she expects better from him.

A singular click echoes from somewhere behind her and warm orange light illuminates the room. She raises her head. A pair of bodyguards step into her room dressed in ironed suits and lustrous oxfords. Between them is a trolley filled with sweet meats, spiced cakes and a bottle of what looks to be champagne. The one who enters last—a woman with wild red hair—closes the door behind her quietly.

"It's time to eat," says the older of the two. Her gray hair is pulled back into a severe bun, highlighting the sharp contours of her face. She looks very much like the villainous matrons from Neon's afternoon soaps. Then, as if to reinforce the similarity, she lifts a sharp nose to the air, sniffing. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty in picking out your dinner. In consideration of your absentmindedness, of course."

"Oh," Nonon's eyes fly to the clock on her tablet. It is half past ten in the evening. "You're right. Thank you, Dada. I hadn't realized it had gotten this late."

Eduarda Fontana or _Dada_ as she is fondly known in the Nostrade household is a stern woman of indeterminate age. She is competent in many ways that even the most seasoned of bodyguards cannot hope to be. And she has served the Nostrade family for so long that Nonon cannot recall of an instance where the woman had not been a critical part of her childhood.

But even so, her loyalty has always been for the _famiglia. _Not to Nonon.

"It is no problem," Dada dips her head. A beat passes, then, "I hadn't realized you still maintained close relations with the Zoldyck scion."

"He's not the Zoldyck heir anymore." Nonon immediately says. She regrets it at the next moment. The haste at which she replies is all the answer that Dada needs.

The corner of Dada's eyes crinkles, her shrewd gaze straying towards the tablet she has in her hands. "Oh? But you seem to be cleaning up after his mess."

"I'm just doing a cursory review of accounts."

"The very same that was handled by that poor accountant your friend killed?"

"He's not my friend,"

"In that case, you would have no problem if I reported this matter to the Boss?" Dada says in reply. Her expression is solemn, and she gives the impression of a loyal and dutiful guard. But Nonon can detect the undertones of disapproval that is almost perpetual to her. She wears it like a second skin. As if her existence is solely defined by her severity.

The elderly woman may have some affection for Nonon but she has never failed to make it clear just who exactly it is she's working for.

_I am loyal to The Nostrades,_ Dada's face seems to say,_ not to you._

It goes unspoken. But Nonon knows. She always has.

However it is not something she will hold against Dada. Not when she had so kindly and patiently braided her hair when her father had forgotten about her. Not when she had been so patient with tending to the scratches on her knees caused by Mafiosi children who had denied Nonon at every turn.

Not when Dada is the closest approximation Nonon ever had to a mother figure as a lonely child.

_She's just doing her job,_ Nonon comforts herself. _Suspicion is in her nature._

Besides, Nonon has long been used to being doubted.

Nonon slides off the settee as she moves towards the tray of delicacies. In her experience, deflection by way of stuffing her mouth full had never failed her.

"Do as you wish." She replies as she thoughtlessly tosses her tablet with one hand. It doesn't land on the couch as she had intended. Instead, it bounces once, twice, before careening towards the floor. But a red blur shoots past her and a pair of hands scrambles to catch it.

It's the red-haired woman with the tablet caught in between her deft hands. Warm honey eyes blink back at Nonon in relief.

Nonon wonders if they've met before.

But she only entertains the thought for a moment, until the woman moves to the desk, only to painfully and loudly trip at the last second. Stacks of paper are sent flying into the air and the decorative bedside lamp shatters into tiny crystals.

Nonon spares her an incredulous look.

The woman is thankfully unharmed but Nonon genuinely wonders how she got hired in the first place.

"Lavinia." Dada peers at her with censure, taking great offense at her blatant display of incompetence. Her eyes are alight with fury.

"Eep! I'm sorry!" Lavinia stammers. She jumps away from the desk, waving her arms wildly. Her arm knocks into _another_ bedside lamp but Dada makes a grab for it before it can meet its untimely demise.

"_Lavinia,_" Dada sighs and they seem to understand each other with just that one utterance. They both bow to Nonon with a promise to call for room service.

Lavinia's shoulders are sloped in despondence as they exit the room.

_Oh, poor girl._

Nonon's heart swells in pity for Lavinia. But she'd rather the woman receive the full brunt of Dada's attentions rather than herself. She's in no mood to be grilled about her associations with Illumi, not after that disastrous confrontation between the two of them.

And not when she has better things to do.

From across the room, Nonon can see the smooth plastic of her luggage bag peeking from underneath her bed.

She looks up and down, left and right. Then, when she is absolutely certain that she is alone, she retrieves a tattered notebook from inside and flips through its yellowing pages.

* * *

_Year 19XX._

_The Greed Island Arc will likely occur at some point in September and will conclude at March of the following year._

_Some points of interest;_

_Gon and Killua are hired to enter the game. They meet Biscuit and she mentors them in Nen. At some point later, they ally themselves with Hisoka to win against Razor in a game of dodgeball Nen. __(Note: Hisoka is bad, bad man! Avoid at all costs! Danger, Danger!)_

_(Is Hisoka there to find Chrollo an exorcist?)_

_(Yes. Definitely there for the exorcist!) _

_Members of the Phantom Troupe also enter the game. They end up being deterred by Razor, only to return once more. __They start killing people. (Why should I even be surprised by this?)_

_Killua leaves to retake the Hunter Exam and passes. Before reentering the game, he has Milluki forge him yo-yos._

_The Bomber is defeated and Gon, Killua and Biscuit leave the island. They meet Kite, kickstarting The Chimera Ant Arc._

* * *

She shuts the notebook close and clutches it against her chest.

Averting fate is no easy task.

It isn't as if she expected it to be like taking a walk in the park, but she also hadn't expected that it would involve this monumental amount of pressure. Everytime she has to make a decision, it feels as if she is walking on a tightrope without the end in sight. Teetering closely to the edge with every breath she takes. She had assumed, incorrectly and perhaps naively, that her involvement with the major players of her new world would come to a halt simply because she had taken a step back from the center stage. No matter how brief her role was.

But every action leaves a ripple.

And Nonon must face the consequences of her own.

"Shit," Her eyes slip shut. She can hear the hustle and bustle of Parsii's night life from beyond her open balcony window. The beeping of cars, the passage of aircrafts, the dull but vibrant currents of life.

She suddenly feels very small and very alone.

Worse, Nonon isn't even entirely certain if Illumi had ever been a part of The Greed Island Arc.

* * *

**Wooot! Thank you so so much for the faves and follows! I didn't expect people to be interested in this that much! Anyways, late update is late. I wanted to update at least once or twice a month but real life got in the way. I just started a new job a few months ago so I'm still learning the ropes and stuff. I hope to get the next update, which is hopefully longer than this, out sometime before Christmas!**

**As usual, please let me know what you think! I'd love to hear more from you guys!**


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